The Odds Against Us
by Enya's Music Box
Summary: [Hunger Games/Homestuck AU] 24 kids between the ages of 12 and 18 compete in a fight to the death to bring peace and prosperity for their district for one year in the Hunger Games. Multiple ships. TW: #Major Character Death #Humanstuck
1. Chapter 1

Your name is Kankri Vantas, and you're standing in the crowd next to a few of your adult friends as your brother makes the sea of sixteen year old males part as he makes his way up the pathway to his ultimate doom. You are nineteen years old now, and you no longer have to worry about the Hunger Games as the way death will come.

Funny. You're pretty sure you've overlooked your younger brother in this situation.

It was only a year ago that you both worried about the games, whether or not you would be picked. It was always a bit nerve wrecking for you than it was for the other kids. Your father was a victor a long, long time ago, but that wasn't to say life was any easier on you after your father had died. Having kids meant throwing them into the games eventually, and no act of rebellion would ever keep you from being a part of their games. The fact that you and your brother were raised hearing first hand stories of the horrors that took place in the games, and watching your father drink his way into liver failure, were both horrific examples why you never, _ever _wanted to even think about the Hunger Games.

The Hunger Games, what they called it. Send in twenty four kids to fight to the death. The capitol has run this game for ninety three years now, this being their ninety fourth, in spite of the rebellions that took place ninety six years ago when the Districts first fought the Capitol to earn freedom. Thousands of people died, mostly in the various districts, and since then the Capitol has made, as a punishment to losing the war, it mandatory to strike fear into the districts by sending kids in to die. The dictatorship of the capitol is lead by Her Imperious Condensension, who rumored to have sent her kids away to live in another district to obtain the most heartless of appearances.

What a bitch, Karkat would say.

You agree.

Six years of your life you've been part of the Reaping, but never once have you been picked. Each year it was the same wash of relief, your anxiety washed away until ten months passed and you were dragged back into the fear. Your fifth year in, you finally figured you'd never have to out and fight. You've seen a lot of your best friends go, including Karkat's older mentor, Slick, who was chosen when you were nine, and a few of your older friends when you were too young to be part of the games. When Karkat was old enough to start going, you feared he would be drafted, too. And for a while, three years of not being picked made you almost sure he wouldn't be picked – that some other kid would inherit that twisted fate that you and him had managed to avoid for all those meaningful, careful years.

Too bad he didn't. The wrenching feeling in your gut gets worse when you think about his chances of survival. Karkat may know how to use a sickle, but compared to the higher districts?

You try not to focus on death when a nicely painted woman named Miss Paint greets Karkat. She places a hand on his shoulder, asking a few questions. She's saying their last name wrong, again – Vantas with a little capitol accent that makes it sound much, _much _worse. You can literally see Karkat's face turn even redder, his freckles finally hiding as his blood boils. You can't help but to wince when Karkat gives a fairly nasty reply about how he is not, in fact, honored to be chosen. There's a tense moment in the air when he says this, and for a moment, you think that he might actually die.

You can almost feel your stomach twist and you nearly puke your breakfast up. This is it, this is how your brother dies. Thankfully, your brother adds quickly that he thinks there are other people more worthy of fighting talents, and the Jugaloos, peace keepers installed by the Capitol, let it slide. No bloody Karkats.

Yet.

You take a deep sigh of relief when one of the Juggalloos stare right at you. You've always been terrified of them; they're tall, lanky, lean muscled drones that evoke fear into your district and the rest, and you are a short, scrawny, not-strong-with-the-muscles kid who could probably be snapped in half by anyone. The Juggaloos in your district aren't nearly as bad the majority of the year, but during the reaps, the normal kind eyed authority of the capitol is replaced by stone eyed, club wielding, giant ones. You quickly avoid their gaze, instead staring straight up, words empty Paint's saying.

Whatever your brother's saying to her, she's obviously making everyone nervous. She finally gives up on Karkat, putting that fake, bright 'I'm going to ruin another year of your lives!' look. Your eyes widen and your ears focus when she reaches her hand into the jar and pulls out another slip. A raised brow is her response and she gives a quick look to a victor behind her, before scanning the crowd.

You know who she's looking for. You say the name along with her.

"Kanaya Maryam."

There is only one victor left after all the years of the Hunger Games in your district, the other two dying over the course of the few years. There was your father, Kartri, who later earned the title of the Signless after leaving no signs of anger. He never killed a single soul. There was Evoria, a young woman who died eighteen or so years ago – right after you were born, who won one of the earliest games.

And then, seated above, her mouth slightly agape and tears starting to form as the corners of her green, green eyes, sat Karriya Maryam, the Dolorosa of Panem, wrenching her hands together as she watches her daughter take steps up the stage. The woman who practically raised Karkat for you when your father died doesn't look like that anymore – her face is instantly older, her eyes silently weaping.

Kanaya smiles weakly at Karkat, who's brown eyes make brief eye contact under thick locks of flaming hair. He gives her a weak smile in return, and Kanaya, as if she had practiced many times before, smiles at Paint. It's evidencial that Rosa made sure her daughters knew how to get sponsors. There is no doubt about it – the sweeter you are, the more sponsors you get. It doesn't help that Kanaya is literally the most gorgeous girl you've ever seen.

Aside from Porrim. Though, Porrim doesn't seem to respect your boundaries about dating and sex and relationships, you can't help but to accept that she may as well be the prettiest girl in the -

It dawns on you, like a brick hitting you in the gut, that Porrim is somewhere in this crowd, watching her sister get pulled up as well. Your best friend. You were so preoccupied with your own brother that you forgot she was here, and you quickly spot her, making eye contact with her. She turns and meets you, her emerald eyes wet with tears, her pierced bottom lip trembling. Her hair's a wreck, long and broken and not well taken care of because she always makes sure Kanaya uses all the shampoo they have. Porrim looks just like Kanaya, with that deep, tan skin, that dark hair, and those sad, sad emerald eyes that match your sad, sad brown ones. The tattoos on her body make her look older, her eyes baggy and her nose running. If she looks like a mess, you can only imagine what you look like in your tattered red sweater you've had for almost sixteen years.

There is an applause of hands, mostly out of respect for the tributes, when Paint announces them as tributes. You don't clap. Porrim doesn't clap. You just keep staring at each other, with small side glances to your siblings, while you can just imagine the capitol roaring in excitement at their two new district ten tributes.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o 

You lean over the edge of the white seat, grasping the sides for dear life as another wrench emits from your stomach. You're still puking the cupcakes you ate with Vriska two hours later.

You sit up from the toilet seat, taking a large intake of water and spitting it back out. You don't know how much more of this you can handle. You tried to eat the stress away, drink a glass of wine like Mindfang suggested, resting up in the comfortable velvet sheets of your compartment of the train, but everything you do reminds you of why you're there and you get that knot in your stomach and suddenly your stomach is everywhere on the floor.

Your name is John Egbert, and a mere five hour ago, you threw your hands up in the air to be a career volunteer in the sake of the weak boy up on the stage. You weren't sure why you did it. You figured that out of the twenty candidates for kids who had trained their entire lives for this position, you wouldn't be picked, you'd be saved. But that small, playful, cocky grin of the man reading off the chosen names looked straight at you.

You were chosen as the tribute as some kind of mockery of District One.

Fast forward five hours, and your exhausted body leans again the maroon tiles of the small bathroom of your compartment, your head faint and your stomach still lurching as you recall your spiral into hell. You don't want to be here. You aren't like the twenty or so kids who volunteer every year, who have trained all this time to become a Career fighter. No, you are John Egbert. The kid who wore metal on his face until he was twelve. The kid with the overbite because the metal didn't work. The boy, who at age seventeen, still talked like he was going through early puberty. The boy who liked pulling pranks and building hammers for fun and liked to bake things with Nana.

You never once trained for the games in your life. You never had to, because someone would do it for you.

And one twist of an offering of your soul to the Games for a young twelve year old kid cost you what would have been a get out of jail free card from being murdered by a bunch of innocent kids gone psycho.

There's a knock on the door, parting you from your thoughts. Before you can even tell them that you're not feeling well, Vriska Serket, your district partner, kicks the door open with the most exhausted look on her face and runs up and pukes, too.

"Great work. Ten out of ten." You sarcastically say as she rinses her mouth and flushes the pan.

"Shut up, John," She says, defeatedly flopping against you. She pulls up her blond hair and pulls it into a messy bun. Her glasses are crooked and her pale skin is caked with dirt. She glances at you before glancing away. "I can't believe they chose you."

"Oh, trust me," You snort, pushing your cracked glasses up properly. "I wasn't expecting it, either. One minute I'm instinctively raising my hand, and the next I'm on a train headed to my death,"

Vriska snorts. "Same story. But really, the pride and fame? Worth it. I've been training for this since I was seven." Fourteen year old Vriska cracks her knuckles. "I bet we're going to be the best fighters. Me with my wit, you with your hammering skills."

"Hammering skills?" You're completely dumbfounded. Career trainees rarely left the buildings, and here. Vriska Serket knew about your skills with building weapons and swinging mallets. "How did you know about tha—"

"Mindfang told me. You refurbished some of her house last summer, remember?" You squint your eyes, digging a year before. It was right before the reaping when Mindfang asked your father and you to come help build the houses up on the Victors Lane, and your father happily took the money and dragged you to come help on it. You used tremendous force of a mallet to knock down a wall, much to one of the victors delight.

Now that you think about it, it did look a hell of a lot like your mentor.

"Anyways," Vriska says, a frown etched on her face. "I'm absolutely exhausted. Mindfang was talking about how gruesome some of the deaths were. She showed me footage to prove it." She shudders a little, making a disgusted face. "I mean, they tell you ways to kill people in school, you know? But they never know you footage of anything so…terribly gruesome. Some lady just ripped the other girls throat out with her fingers…"

Oh. There it is again. You hurdle over the toilet and gasp for air.

"Sorry," Vriska says.

You don't reply.

There's a few moments of silence as you slump back against the wall. Your tan skin is so dark compared to her light skin. It's so weird to make such a small observation. She's female. A trained assassin. You're just John.

Finally, Vriska speaks up. Her voice is cracked.

"We get to see the tributes tonight," She offers. You look over to her, scared for your life. You're not sure if you're ready to see who you'll be killing.

You're not sure if you're ready for anything anymore.

Ooo0ooooo0oooooo0ooooO

Your name is Aradia Megido, and you are not one bit scared of going into the Hunger Games. Instead, you act rather nonchalant to the whole idea, digging through shelves to find snacks. You'll be damned if you don't get your district partner to eat before you get to the capitol. You snag a bag of some fried potato called 'chips' and something called onion dip and throw yourself over the couch, plopping down next to your district partner, Tavros, who is currently preoccupied with listening to the opening remarks about the variety of tributes this year has to offer. You lean over.

"What did I miss?"

"Nothing much," Tavros replies, his voice shaky and quiet. You make yourself comfortable, content with the answer, as the television flashes to District One. A name is called, a small girl walks up, and she is instantly replaced. You let out a small, 'ohhhh' when a rough looking girl takes the stage. Her eyes are a deep shade of blue and her body is covered in training scars. More interesting than that, though, is when the boy tribute is chosen. The crowd goes silent when a small boy makes his way up to the stage, having been picked. The girl towers over him by at least a foot – he can't be much taller than four eight – and his teeth jut out strangely. Tavros lets out a small chuckle when he introduces himself – his voice is squeaky and high.

The screen then again flashes, and your stomach nearly curls upon itself. Tavros shrieks when the male tribute is shown. The boy is giant, at least six and a half feet tall, with short, curly hair. He's pale as a sheet, and wears messy clown makeup, not bothering to make himself look nice at all. Somehow, this peculiar appearance sends chills down your spine. You already know not to fuck with him. The girl, however, seems much less deadly. She is tall, yes, lean and skinny. Her skin is also pale, but she keeps her posture as straight as her pixie cut hair. She makes herself appear monotone, violet eyes scanning the crowd, as if judging every single of one them. Tavros smiles at her.

"She uh…looks harmless…" He states. You roll your eyes and take another chip. Tavros nibbles on a few, mindlessly crunching.

"Well, you know how it works," You say with a shrug. "Even the most innocent and monotone looking can be the deadliest. She is a career." Tavros nods, eyes not leaving the screen, when it turns to district three.

Your jaw nearly drops when you see the pair of people after district two. There is a taller boy, and tall, skinny girl. The girl has bright, bright blond hair and bright pink eyes – even more so than the district two girl. She smiles widely, her lips painted and her eyes lined. You can tell she's been drinking because she sways and hiccups every now and then and laughs inappropriately. But to be honest, you don't know if you can really blame her.

You'd probably drink your way if you could.

The other you giggle at. He is _incredibly _cute. Tall, scrawny, the posture of a guy who spends his sitting over a computer, working on the machinery for District 3's production. He has short, badly cropped brown-blonde hair, and a goofy frown.

"His eyes are mix matched," Tavros murmurs. You don't have a chance to see for yourself because the screen changes, much to your disappointmet. Maybe this is how it's supposed to be, you finding him and demanding to see his eyes. You make a mental note to track him down before the games, and before he has the chance to kill you.

"I know what you're thinking," Tavros mutters. "You can't…uh…become his friend, Aradia. He'll either uh…end up killing you or uh…end up…dying in front of you,"

You furrow your eyebrows. Tavros is right. You bite your lip and turn away, focusing your attention to the screen. You get just barely enough time to see a gorgeous girl with Hawaiian features and a boy with blond hair greased back and thick glasses before District 5 is shown. A pair of twins come up; both of them have bright green eyes and very pale blond hair. Your mind wanders again, to the boy. What did the announcer say his name was? You didn't turn on the sound. The sound makes Tavros nervous, and you don't want him to have a heart attack. After all, he is the closest thing to a friend you'll have through the games.

_If he decides to partner up for you in the Games, _you think to yourself remorsefully.

District 6 has a pair of siblings as well – or, at least, the way they are dressed in a hooded dress and a hooded tunic goes. One has dark black hair and grey eyes, the other has a colorful hairpiece, light – almost white – hair that falls down her back in a braid.

Will that boy even show you his eyes? Having heterochromia has to be strange for a person to have, you think to yourself. What can the boy do? Is he a tech expert? Probably not. He probably just works the machinery like everyone else does.

You drift your eyes to District 7. A girl with short black hair and red, cracked glasses and a boy with a jean green jacket and glasses as well. They both are far more casually dressed, probably from working in the logs all day.

You continue to question the boy from District 3, and begin to think of other potential alliances. Meanwhile, you flitter your eyes at Districts. 8 has a tall, muscular boy with bright yellow hair and a short girl with buck teeth and long, straight black hair. 9 has a boy with white hair and red eyes, and eh has red metal on his teeth and freckles. They also have a girl with a pair of red shades, a shit eating grin, and an aura that just screams weird. District 10 has a short, grouchy boy who seems to be constantly angry, and an elegant young lady who wears a beautiful dress on the saddest day of her life. Eleven has a very, very tall and muscular boy who could probably snap you in half and a short, cute bubbly girl who will probably end up being the one who plays it innocent until she kills half of the arena off.

And then there's you. District 12. Tavros gets up there, his fake Mohawk falling all over the place. He stammers, looking like he's going to cry. You stand up there, smiling, your puffed lips and large eyes making you look attractive. You squeeze your arm. You hope so.

You hope that boy will like you enough to make an alliance with you, too.

But you know, somewhere deep down inside, this won't happen. So you flick the TV off, grab a blanket hanging over the couch, and flop on it, making yourself comfortable. Tavros gets up and leaves the room, taking the food with him and flicking the lights.

"Goodnight, uh, Aradia," He says quietly. You groan in exhaustion in reply and he smiles, closing the door and letting you be.

Tomorrow you'll have to face the Capitol.

In three weeks, 23 of you will be dead.

-  
**A/N: Hunger Games/Homestuck fic! I haven't written fanfiction in a long time. I'll put this in the main archieves for now since it won't let me upload to crossovers…**

**Hope you enjoyed this first bit. ;3 Short A/N because I gotta go soon! D:**


	2. Chapter 2

"They call you Nepeta, right?" The woman hovers over you, pricking your sides, ripping your hair out with thin sheets of white paper. Your legs are sore and you really want to walk away and cry, but this lady controls the knives, and you really don't feel like being murdered.

"Nepeta Leijon, yes, m'mam," You say, remembering your partner Equius's warning about being kind to the people who make you look good. His older brother, Horuss, was a victor, and your trainer, and you trust him because he'd earned a lot of sponsors by letting the make up artists do all the work. If looking good kept you alive, then there is no doubt in your mind that you will cooperate with the people who do it.

The woman above you is tall and skinny. Her hair is an obnoxious shade of pink, and her partner next to her has so many piercings that you're not sure how he can even talk. Both smile when you confirm your name. "It's quite lovely," The man says as he applies more lotion onto your cracked hands. "And so are you. You have such flawless skin for a District 11 tribute. I haven't seen such delicate hands like this. You must be an artist,"

You nod. "I paint signs and draw when it's off season," You say, a small smile on your face. You're now very curious about this man with the piercings. "How did you know?"

"We learn these things, babe," The woman in pink says. Her name, you remember, is Clover. You give her a small smile, and she returns it before making your breath hitch as she rips another sheet of weird white paper from her legs. She calls it waxing, something you've never heard of before. In District 11, it was pretty much given that kids would want to keep the hair on their bodies. You of all people would know the gratefulness of warmth, especially when you climbed trees on the third day of the week when you harvested apples with the other kids. No jackets were one hundred percent warm. Any hair you could keep was a gift.

"Your hair is so long and pretty," A third person comes in, this one with long silver hair and a ton of weird tattoos lining her face. Like most people in Panem, they have weird colored skin; it seems pale is the new in because all three of them are a pale color of sorts. You don't understand fashion as it is, let alone how these people take fashion. But you tolerate it because they're the ones keeping you alive, and you'd much rather live than die. Besides, you will admit, you're quite a bit curious about it. Your hand twitches and you know in an instant you'd like to draw these people, record their weird features.

You decide you will when you get home.

_If you get home,_you think. You shake your head. Of course you'll get home. Equius won't have it any other way.

Equius, you think softly to yourself. You wonder if he's doing alright. Probably, but he's also probably making everything a sweaty mess. His 'condition' is probably something you'd laugh at if it weren't so disgusting and embarrassing for Equius. You remember not to fondly how much he was teased in school for it. Hopefully he'll get sponsors, you tell yourself. He will, you just know it!

The woman with silver hair introduces herself as Lily, and the boy, who hasn't told you his name, introduces himself as Sage. "We're all named after plants," She says when your face lights up at the names. You're not going to lie; you're really excited to hear something familiar. Something that your skills out in the harvesting months has taught you. Food. Plants. You won't starve, you like to think.

"I'm named after a plant, too," You decide to say, hoping to grow on the fond side of your decorators. "Catnip. But my mother didn't like that name because my sister's name is Meulin, and that already sounds like a cat name. So she named me Nepeta, after the Nip part." You smile brightly, and your makeup artists make a loud awing noise. Sage and Clover sit you up, and then go to talk among themselves. The horror must be over already.

_Thank goodness,_you tell yourself.

That is, until Lily takes a chunk of your waist long hair and you hear a loud snip.

You squeak very loudly as a bundle of short hair falls around your cheeks, reaching a little below your chin. Lily carefully takes small bits off, and you feel tears welling at your eyes. You really loved your long hair! You and Meulin grew your hair out to keep warm. Now how were you supposed to keep warm at night? Lily hums to herself, and goes to trim the front of your hair when she sees your face turning redder from stress.

"You didn't want it cut, did you?" She asks, sympathy folding in her voice, tinted with a bit of guilt. You shake your head - no, you _did not want your hair cut,_and Lily frowns. She continues trimming it anyways. "Listen. I know the whole deal with your district. You guys grow your hair out to keep it long. And let me tell you, Equius threw a fit and we gave up. But he insisted we trim your hair."

"Why?" You ask.

"Because it'll get caught in things. You people may be masters at avoiding nature, but I doubt you'll want all this -" She holds a clump of your lost hair. "Getting in the grasp of a District 1 tribute. Besides," She backs away, eyeing her work in approval. "You look really cute this way. Want to see? You're all done here until Jasmine comes in to work on your clothes."

You nod, a little scared. You feel so light without all that hair there to bug you. You follow Lily up to a mirror, where she fluffs your hair. You look at your body first, and then look up at your hair and literally lose all ability to think.

You look innocent. Adorable. Your once matted, tangled hair is now replaced with softer, shorter hair and it frames your face in such a way that everything adorable about your twelve year old self pops out. You turn to Lily with a smile.

"Thanks, miss," You say.

"Just stay alive," She replies back, smiling. And then she's gone, leaving you to play with your new, bouncy, healthy haircut.

-o-o-o-o-

"This outfits are great!" Roxy says, throwing her hands up into the air. You sigh as she does so, watching her skin tight, two piece outfit move with her. Loose strings of wire connect all over her body and she's wearing some weird hat that looks like the district guessed on a computer chip and got it completely wrong.

Your name is Sollux Captor and you're wearing an identical outfit that hugs your body a little (read: a lot) too much. The fabric is silky and smoother than anything you've ever felt before, but the wires itch against your skin and the glasses on your face, albeit cool and something you might wear regularly, are unusual and make everything blue on one side and red on the other. You're not even sure how this is supposed to make people happy. But you wont' complain, because Roxy totally works the skin tight outfit that barely covers her boobs and her butt, and if Roxy, the nicest, most clingiest girl on the planet, can manage to get sponsors, you're pretty sure you will be able to mooch off of her.

She smiles at you and skips over, "Man! This is so exciting!" Her breath, you note as you wince, smells heavily like alchohol. No wonder Roxy's so relaxed about the first impressions of the Capitol. She's probably drunk, no thanks to Mutant Cat Loving Guy, the man who's supposedly supposed to keep you alive during this whole damn thing but is so heavily drunk and obsessed with his four eyed cat that he doesn't seem to do much help.

Yay! District three! The District where your mentors are totally useless and you're stuck with a drunk girl as your partner and have the worst mood swings on the entire planet!

You don't bother (read: dare) to look around at all the other tributes just yet. You're not sure you want to. You've heard from some of your make up artists and your fashion design, Ellick, that this years tributes are the most interesting by far, and you're kind of scared to know how and why. You figure you're an interesting one, though, because even your make up artists agreed that you had some of the best features. One bright blue eye, one brown. A heavy lisp on a weird but charming face. Skinny, really tall, hair that had small waves that made it curl on its ends. You were undoubtably charming.

Or at least you would be if not for your obnoxious moodswings and constant headaches. People in the Capitol sure were dumb, and you couldn't help but to sass them when they were talking about technology and how they seemed to break their phones by messing up an application. You easily fixed the problem for them.

Coding was no problem for you. And it seemed to be that a lot of the Capitol's stupid maintenence problems could be solved if they could just learn an ounce of coding. But of course, they were the citizens of the Capitol, and you knew with all of your distaste for them that they would never, ever do anything for themselves.

Your thoughts are drawn closed when Ellick rushes you to the charriot that will carry you and Roxy to your ultimate doom. You hate public appearances; you never liked them back home, and you certainly didn't like them now that you were in the capitol. Roxy gulps when you guys get onto the stage of the charriot.

"Take my hand," You remind Roxy quietly, and she does so. _Make it look like you're a team,_Roxy's designer suggested after their mentor has left them on their own. _The capitol likes to see some human decency before you all fight for your lives._You take Roxy's hand, your's sweaty against her soft skin. It's a shame she got picked. You hope the Capitol won't hurt her if she wins. You've heard horror stories from your friends about this.

Before you know it, you're swept away into a loud roaring of crowd. Your eyes are instantly drawn to a screen high above you, were you can see the first chariot take off. In it carries two kids; a girl with her blond hair lavished with some blue streaks. Her bright blue eyes are framed by blue eyelashes, and her lips the same color. She's dressed in some kind of pirate getup, all black and blue with her breasts showing way too much cleavage to be necessary. To her right, a short boy waves happily, buckteeth and glasses over his head. He's dressd in a suit lined witha l ghter blue, both outfits heavily bedazzled.

The crowd roars in excitement.

You're already racing down the tracks when you focus on the next too. District two's partners are dressed in matching royalty outfits. The girl is in a lacey black and purple outfit, her lips painted black. The tall boy - and you're pretty tall yourself - is dressed in a prince outfit, with a matching tiara thrown in his messy hair. You remember him from the reaping, and you smile when you almost laugh when you see him with his face paint fixed. It's more humorous than terrifying. Then you see yourself on the screen. Tight metallic outfits, not much to look at. But somehow, the crowd loves you. You grip Roxy's hand tighter. You look off into the distance, instictively putting a monotone face, but you smile a bit when Roxy screams with excitement and you both laugh. You almost lose your balance when Roxy urges you to wave, but you do so regardless, laughing and squealing in the most excited ways.

There's relief when people start laughing and chanting 'District Three is Cute as A Bee!'. It seems your accidental dorkiness has done you well in the department of earning sponsors. Once you regain your balance, you look at the screen to see them showing District four. The boy is dressed in a decorated pirate outfit, with striped pants. He looks like he's dirty - and as much as you know it's for show, you can't help but to imagine what he must smell like if it were real. The girl next to him is dressed in barely anything; some brightly colored fabrics and a long skirt that reveals a little too much leg on the side. She looks like a princess, her hair pulled up. She's also tangled in net, as if captured by the pirate guy.

Carriage Five carries the Twins. They are both dressed in green with leaves pinned to their hair. They look fairly nice. District six's tributes are dressed like people getting ready to travel the desert. The man has wire and 'mayor' printed on his outfit, and the girl with wearing light colors, blues and greens and pinks. Her light green eyes light up on the screen when she looks up. They hold a nightfly between them. District sevens's tributes are dressed in some form of a jungle outfit. District eight's look like they're unhappy in pinks and greens. District nine has a girl with ridiculous red shades. Ten has a pair of happy looking teens, though the boy seems to faking that smile. District 11 has a small girl next to a giant boy.

But you can't keep your eyes from District 12's girl. She's gorgeous. Curvy for a skinnier girl, long hair that falls in waves over her dress, which is gorgeous enough. The crowd seems to love her already, because they throw flowers, which she smiles adn catches. For a moment, she looks around, and then nearly drops the flowers when she catches you staring at her. She stares at you back, eyes wide, her cheeks turning red. Yours do too, and you instantly look away.

Roxy leans over your shoulder, looking at the District 12 girl. "Who's she?" She asks in a hushed done. You shrug, her brown eyes still fresh in your memories.

Well, you think. You might have a new person on your team.

**A/N: I apologize for a long wait on the second chapter! The next one will follow suit on the training. ;3  
This one is a little shorter than the last one. ;; Sorry!  
Ooooooohhhh is that the sound of  
**_**semi-established pairings?**_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **

**As I sit here typing this, I can only thing to myself about how awesome the people who take the time to read this and review it are. I, for one, am not accustomed to receiving feedback on my writing, so it is very exciting to see my email pop up and go, "Oi, Enya! You've got yourself a review!" (And yes, I do think my email has a Nordic accent, thank you if you please!) **

**Anywho, thank you for your time and feedback. c: It is so greatly appreciated! I really hope I'm doing well with writing this; I'm having fun, and I'm glad people like the headcanons I throw out into the open.**

Your name is Terezi Pyrope, and _damn _does this room your in stink.

You can't be sure, but oh my _god _does that smell of sweat literally reek from the District 10 tributes. You look over at the tall boy, who's shiny gloss almost blinds you. Not that it would be a problem, you tell yourself as you break into a small grin. You're Terezi Pyrope. Master of scents, master of tastes.

You're not sure how long ago you've been standing here, but Dave is starting to get a bit unnerved sitting here. You don't blame him; you're not too fond of the idea of being surrounded by the people who are going to be trying to kill you in two weeks. You try to shake this feeling of nervousness, and succeed somewhat, if still not being a little peeved by the recent threat. You really don't want to be here, but you plaster that smile on your face regardless; besides, you are having _some _fun, you suppose. Dressing up in that awesome outfit for the parade, eating all that delicious food.

Your ears perk into what the announcer is saying. Her name is Snowball, you've heard. What a weird name, you think to yourself. Of course, you're really not sure you find it all that odd. The Condensension's name is weird.

What's also weird is her daughter, Feferi, is literally ten feet away from you next to her best friend, Eridan. You only know their names because of the juicy gossip Latula, your older sister (and former victor, who broke her nose and got a concussion from it so bad that she lost her sense of smell entirely - leading to her often getting food poisoned.) was telling you this morning at dinner. Feferi was thrown into the games by her own mother to see if it would change her into a blood thirsty, evil doing woman fit to rule the capitol.

You really want to live, but at the same token, you're sort of scared. Feferi's sweet. Innocent. If she wins, she could change everything. Your body twitches slightly, every inch of it seeking for justice. You want to help Feferi. You want to help Dave, and that thirteen year old boy from one. That twelve year old girl from ten. That small, southern accented girl and her friend, that tall, brown skinned boy with the shortest shorts on a boy you've ever seen.

You want to provoke justice. You want to change everything and fix it.

But you know you can't, and it's slightly aggravating. Alas, you are finally allowed to go.

You find yourself at a sparring arena with swords, looking over them. A district one tribute, the girl with the blond hair with those awfully nice smelling cyan highlights, tests some of the more pirate looking swords. She must have a huge thing for pirates.

You approach her slowly, scanning up and down at the selection of swords. You need a cane, really; you've used them before. Your mother is slightly blind; she has been losing her eyesight progressively for a long while now, and Latula and you had been practicing with them as swords for a while. It was also Latula's advice for the two of them to go with something that felt right, and there was no doubt in either of you or Dave's mind to disagree with her._  
_

You finally find a smaller, thinner blade with a handle similar to a cane. It feels nice in your hand, lightweight, the ends made of some soft, but sturdy metal. You take a few practice swings when you hear a yelp and a mumbled, angry cry.

"Watch where you are swinging that thing, are you blind?!" You turn around to see the blond tribute from One shaking her head with anger and frusteration. "God damn!"

"Sorry!" You say, crackling with laughter. Her face is beat red, bringing out her deep blue eyes. She scowls, but you ignore it. You don't have time for her; you have your own business to attend to. You swing the sword gently, testing it out, before you use more complex sweeps and slices. Your cuts are precise, accurate. You could swipe just enough to sting, but not to kill. Not right away. Just something to get you far without them being able to following. There is no sense in killing, you think to yourself. It's just another way to ruin everyone else's fun and entertain the sick reality of the meaning of the games to the capitol.

You're almost too distracted that you don't see One approach. She taps your shoulder and you instictively whip around, staring at her.

"Yes?" You ask, drawling it out. Your voice is hoarse and raspy, as it always has been.

"Spar me?" She asks. "I like your moves,"

"Thanks, but no thanks," You turn down her offer. She puts her hands on her hips, rolling her eyes. She has a nice sword in her hand, and her blue painted lips (Damn, is everything blue with her, you wonder? You lick your own teal painted lips and sigh. Don't judge when you do the same!) form a nice, but slightly sassy smile.

"Are you suuuuuuuuure?" She asks, tilting her head. "It might be interesting to see what I'm up against. Maybe if you're good, I'll tell you my name." She lets out a small giggle, something suspicious and not-trustworthy. You raise your eyebrows at her, but then lower them as your grin breaks out._  
_

"You know what?" You decide, looking down at your own sword. "Why not. Can't hurt, can it?"

One just laughs, and then the two of you step onto the platform. You and One nod at the referee, who willb reak up anytihng if it gets too dangerous. "Not that it will," You try to convince the referee. You don't like being watched while you fight. It was like what Lautla had always taught you.

"There is nothing worse that being stuck in a situation where others know your moves," She had once told you in sparring. "My biggest regret was letting my district partner show off his skills. But I also regret not showing mine off enough. No one took me as a serious threat. No one but the few who saw past my lies, my slander. Yes, it's improtant to know your stuff when out int he wild, little sis. But is' also good to know how to fight. To prove you can. Because then the big guys will save you for last, and it'll allow you to have time to survive and work out a big final plan. They won't stop you, the capitol. They'll let you do it. They love a good final blow when they don't have to do it themselves,"

Those words repeat in your head when you duc and swing at One. You're both wearing these wird, strong pads now; the referee has insisted since you are both fighting hard. In a last moment attempt to win the battle, One leaps before you and swings. You catfch it as the last mintue, and your swords collide in sucha force that you're bnoth knocked to your feet. You both break out into laughter, smiling at each other.

The two of you rip the pads from your bodies, and go off for lunch. Dave sits with the tall blond girl, the girl with long black hair, and the other district One partner. You look around, seeing a few other people sitting together. You follow Vriska and take a seat at a more secluded area in the corner, only getting up a few times to grab food to snack on.

"So," One says when you sit down, taking a bite into some kind of chicken wrapped in an onion paper. "What's your name?"

"You first," You insist. You refuse to tell her yours otherwise.

"Vriska Serket," The girl answers, brushing her hair out of her face. She smirks at you through shiny glasses. "And...?"

"Terezi Pyrope," You reply, extending your hand. Vriska takes it and shakes it. "You're a pretty great fighter, but I guess that's to be expected of District One." _  
_

"True, true," Vriska says, flipping her hair back again. You laugh this time, grateful for your short hair. Vriska sighs and gives up on the monstrosity. "You're pretty amazing at fighting yourself, Pyrope," She stuffs a few more noodles in her mouth and you follow. On your plate, and you don't mean to be the food person, but you can't help but to want to eat it all, is raw fish wrapped in sea weed, cooked noodles in some kind of brown sauce, rice with orange colored (and flavored!) chicken on top, fried vegetables, and onion wrapped pieces of chicken that all taste superb together.

"Listen," Vriska catches your attention, and you quickly swallow the red fish wrapped around rice and seaweed.

"Yeah?"

"Let's form an alliance," Vriska smiles at you. "I mean, we'll have to break it eventualllly," She sighs, rolling her eyes and giving you that 'I know, but it has to be done,' look, and then smiles once more. "But I think it would be good. We could fight. Survive. Until it comes to a point when there's too few of us left, of course."

You look at her, mouth slightly agape. "But what about your partner? Mine? And the whole 'me not being a career' thing?"

"I think our partners are fine," Vriska looks over at where Dave's sitting. The four kids there are all laughing and enjoying their food. You smile at Dave when he looks over, waving. He waves back, a huge smile on his face. You chuckle. Vriska coughs to get your attention, "And as for the whole 'career' thing, don't you think it might be more fun to not do that? The people always guess that the careers are going to team up, but look around you. Except for those weird fish people from four, none of us careers are teaming up. So take it or leave it, Terezi. Your pick. Come with me and live, or go one your own or with my failure of a district partner and your great one and survive just barely,"

You look at her with a bit of disbelief in her eyes. She is offering you, ultimately, a way to live longer and not have to worry. Vriska Serket, a disctict One person, has trained her entire life for this moment. The moment to kill and harm without hesitation, run, fight, flee. She is the perfect solution to your problems here. And if you have to, you can kill her; she may be tall, but she's scrawny. She could barely lift the weights when you went to go lift them together. But she is also a source of wealthy income. She is meant to survive, and you along with her until the alliance breaks, whenever that will be.

"I'll do it," You finally decide outloud. "I'll be your alliance partner,"

"Great!" Vriska exclaims. "Man, we've got a lot of work to get you up to date on survival," She mumbles under her breath right after. You both let out small laughs.

Maybe you can change the games after all.

Maybe there is still hope.

**Sorry, the chapter here is shorter. :c I accidently deleted the other half, something Tavros centric! It was so good, too! :C Oh well!  
The next chapter is going to be a small filler chapter that I've been wanting to write for a while; one focusing on Karkat, Nepeta, and Equius, and one focusing on some characters not seen in the games itself, like Latula, and John's Dad, and Rose's mum. c: It's gonna be hella sweet. uvu 3**


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